Child of Destiny
by MissEclipse
Summary: My take on what happened to Face after his mom left him at the Sacred Heart Orphanage, through to joining the A-Team. Reviews most welcome and very much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**[ _Disclaimer: Faceman (and all his aliases) and all the other well-known A-Team characters in this story do not belong to me. They are the sole creation of Mr Cannell (RIP)._ ]**

 **Chapter 1 - The House that God built**

[ _Timeline: 7 December 1955 – Los Angeles. Some of the extracts in the first couple of chapters are taken from one of my other stories, "The Ultimate Sacrifice", which helps set the scene for this story._ ]

 _Samantha Bancroft sighed in relief as she watched the kindly priest leading her son, Richard, into the orphanage._ _"_ _May God forgive me," she sobbed, as she started to walk away down the street._ _She looked back one more time, before adding in a hushed whisper, "I'll be back for you soon, baby._ _I promise._ "

The first thing that the little boy noticed as he followed Father Magill down the corridor, was how sparkling clean his surroundings looked. He sniffed absent-mindedly, as the unfamiliar antiseptic smell filled his nostrils. It was a far cry from the squalor and filth he had become accustomed to living in. His mother, having fallen upon bad times, had turned to drugs and other unsavoury activities to make a living, which had been the start of their decline into hardship and poverty.

After a short walk, Father Magill stopped outside his office. He held the door open for the little boy, who very hesitantly poked his head into the room, before finally deeming it safe to enter. He made his way towards a chair and sat down, putting a small, battered bag that his mom had packed for him, down on the floor by his feet.

Father Magill shut the door and dragged another chair across the room to sit opposite the boy. Richard stared back at him, still clutching a bag of liquorice which his mom had given him before she had left him on the orphanage steps. A look of caution was clearly evident on his sweet, rosy-cheeked face.

"Well now my boy," said Father Magill gently, in his strong Irish lilt. "Would you be able to tell me your name?"

Richard narrowed his eyes in deep thought for a few seconds and then shrugged his shoulders, as if the question was alien to him. If the truth be known, he could only really remember his mother calling him "my precious" or "baby".

"Not to worry," replied Father Magill. "How did you come to be sitting on the steps all on your own?"

"Mom had to go somewhere. Gonna pick me up later," explained Richard.

Father Magill smiled back at him, encouragingly. But he couldn't help feeling a pang of sadness tug at his heart, recognising the signs of yet another child in the early stages of a possible abandonment.

"Is it just you and mom?" he continued. "No other family?"

Richard nodded his head, twisting the top of his bag of liquorice nervously around his finger. They talked for several minutes, but it soon became clear that Richard knew very little about himself, his age or where he lived.

He reluctantly let Father Magill look through his bag, to see if he could find some evidence of who is mother was, or where he had come from. But apart from a few pieces of threadbare clothing, Father Magill could find nothing of any significance. Not even a photo, a book or any favourite toy had been packed. The only thing he could glean from the labels on the child's tatty clothes, was that he was about five years old.

Almost as if he could sense something was wrong, Richard suddenly stood up, grabbing the bag from the priest's hands.

"Have to find mom," he said anxiously. "Bad mans might hurt her again."

Father Magill's eyes widened in horror at this piece of garbled information. He tried to pacify him, as the boy's anxiety escalated into a frenzied panic. Tears started to spill from his baby-blue eyes as he began stuffing his possessions back in the bag.

"But what if your mom comes back looking for you and you're not here?" asked Father Magill, desperately trying to calm the little boy down. His words seemed to hit home with Richard, who stopped his struggle to get out of the room. He blinked at the priest in bewilderment, not knowing what to do next.

"I'll tell you what, little one," said Father Magill. "Why don't you stay here with us at the orphanage until we can find out what has happened to your mom?"

"Orf … orfin …?" stuttered Richard, trying to comprehend what the priest was saying. "What's an "or-fin-ige"?"

"It's a house that God built to help keep safe all his lost children," replied Father Magill.

"God?" repeated Richard in a puzzled voice.

Father Magill chuckled to himself at the boy's blatant ignorance of the Supreme Being.

"Well now, I guess you could say he's a big hero of mine," continued the priest. "He has great power, strength and knowledge to help those who are in trouble."

"Can God keep mom safe too?" enquired the child, his intense gaze never breaking contact with Father Magill's eyes. His eyebrow was raised up questioningly as the doubtful look never quite left his face.

Father Magill patted him affectionately on the arm. He was an endearing little soul and yet there was a certain awareness about him. He wondered what adversity the boy and his mom had gone through, that had made him so unwilling to put his trust in others. Somehow, he had a feeling that he couldn't fob the boy off with a pretentious answer, so he answered him as truthfully as he could.

"If your mom has faith, then God will find a way to help her," he finally replied.

He wasn't sure whether the child believed him or even understood his answer. But he seemed satisfied that the priest had answered his question as truthfully as he could. Wiping his nose on his filthy coat sleeve, he smiled at Father Magill. In that split second his whole face lit up with an angelic expression of pure innocence that held a hint of wickedness!

"Sweetie?" said Richard, shyly, holding out his precious bundle towards the priest.

"Well, bless you my son!" enthused Father Magill, delving into the brown bag and taking out a small black stick. "I'm particularly partial to a little bit of liquorice, so I am!"

"Can we go see if mom has come back yet?" enquired Richard, earnestly.

Father Magill sighed as he chomped on his liquorice. The little boy looked so sure that his mom would be waiting from him, he didn't have the heart to say no. He guessed it wouldn't do any harm to humour him for a bit longer. He took Richard by the hand and together they made their way back out to the orphanage steps.

They stood in the shelter of the building for nearly an hour. Richard's mom didn't come back. Shivering in the bitter wind, the tears started to fall down his cheeks again. But even when the priest led him back into the orphanage, the child still believed that one day she would come back for him.


	2. Chapter 2 - Identity change

**Chapter 2 - Identity change**

The memory of that first night in the orphanage, would be one that the little boy would never forget. The hard bed that he sat on was immaculately made. The small closet next to his bed was empty, as the child had nothing to call his own. He had no letters or photo-album of memories that he could look at to remind him of his past. His tatty clothes had been discarded by the Nuns who ran the orphanage and replaced with a new set.

He stared at the window which was barren of any curtain, thinking how it gleamed brightly like the sun. He gazed in awe at the linoleum floor that had a real spit and shine finish to it. He looked out over the rest of the beds in the dormitory, noticing how they were laid out all neat and tidy, in a military fashion.

Eventually, he sat back expressionless on the bed, rocking back-and-forth. The noise of the other children scared him. Thankfully he was at the end of the row, next to the window and had some degree of privacy. Having lived in an insular world that had consisted of just him and his mom for so long, he wasn't used to having so many people around him. He had never attended school, as his mother had moved them from one destination to another throughout his young life.

The bad men that he had told Father Magill about had constantly been on their trail for some reason. Richard couldn't be sure, but he thought it might have had something to do with his daddy, who had left them when he was about 3 years old. The men seemed to be angry with his daddy and wanted to know where he was. They had threatened his mom and made her cry on several occasions. He himself had been subjected to some of the harassment. Mom would tell them she didn't know where her husband was, but still they pestered her until eventually she had no choice but to run away.

It hadn't bothered him that he had come to the orphanage with nothing. After all, he had never had the simple things in life that other children may have taken for granted. As far back as he could remember, there had been no television or radio to pass the time away with. There had been very little games to play with, books to read or colouring pads to scribble in.

Instead, he had been left to fend for himself whilst his mom had been forced into taking early morning cleaning jobs. He had been surrounded by dirty, used needles that had been discarded by his mom. He had eaten stale, rotten food and had never enjoyed the taste of ice-cream. It wasn't perfect, but the little boy didn't know any better. After all, how could you miss something that you never had?

But however hard things got, he had his mom. She may not always have been there to give him a cuddle or to buy him the latest toys and clothes. He may have spent many an hour tending to her whilst she lay unconscious from a drug trip. He hadn't minded the dirt and the grime that caked everything in their humble two-bedroom apartment. Everything was okay, as long as they had each other.

But now he felt like he was living in some kind of no-where land. There was nothing he could call his own. He had nothing to exist for and on-one to claim him. At that moment in his life, he had no friends and even his bag of liquorice had been stolen from him by one of the older boys.

The Nuns had temporarily given him the name Joseph. They had a big book of bible names, from which they would call the nameless waifs and strays that regularly came through their doors. They would automatically be given the surname "Brennar", which was taken from The River Brennar located not far from the orphanage.

He very quickly formed a bond with Father Magill. Although he appeared to have had very little education, he knew his alphabet and had very basic counting ability. Father Magill had spent a lot of extra time with him, helping him to read and write and teaching him how to behave correctly. And to the priest's delight, the little boy seemed to respond to his advice with much curiosity and intelligence. In a few weeks he had already made a dramatic improvement.

One of the things he liked to do from the start was to read. His favourite book was called "The Busy Beaver". The child was fascinated by the stories. Father Magill was quick to catch on that he had connected with the main character, Alvin, who worked for the Forest Service in the US Department of Agriculture. The beaver was a practical woodsman who was part philosopher, part forester and part hard-headed business man.

Father Magill would often find Joseph with his nose buried in this book, thoroughly absorbed in its enthralling tales. Dedicated to spreading the message of conservation to children, Alvin was a smart and easy-going little beaver, who took great pride in his work. Qualities, the priest thought, he had come to see in the boy over the last few weeks. Such was the boy's love for the book and its main character, Father Magill jokingly started to call him Alvin. The child seemed delighted with this new name and would defiantly refuse to answer to anything apart from Alvin.

Alvin Brennar would be the start of a series of aliases that he would become during his life. Not really knowing who he was or where he came from, he would often change his name to suit his lifestyle. It would be a good 30 years before Richard Bancroft would learn about his true identity. And it would be yet another chapter in his life that would be full of drama and heartbreak.

[ _Thank-you for reading. Hope to update soon._ ]


	3. Chapter 3 - Suffer little children

**Chapter 3: Suffer little children**

As the weeks passed into months, it was pretty obvious that Alvin was at the bottom of the pecking order. Being the smallest and one of the youngest, he was a sitting target for the bullies to tease and taunt.

The Nuns were generally kind, but very strict. You could get punished for not making your bed correctly, dropping crumbs on the floor or even for not smiling correctly at the appropriate time. Any of these crimes could warrant getting a thrashing from the leather straps that hung round the Nuns' waists, next to their rosary beads.

One nun in particular, was very cruel. She didn't use the strap. Rolling her sleeves up so she could give you a really good whack, she seemed to relish hitting you with her bare hands. She would say insulting things like, " _No wonder your mother left you_ " and would refer to him as trash and a freak. Because he did not understand about God, he was also referred to as the Devil's child.

One day he forgot to hang out his flannel and towel to dry. She dragged him out of the dormitory and made him kneel down, facing the wall of the main corridor in disgrace. Some of the Nuns and even the other children would smack him as they walked by. He could hear the footsteps behind him, but didn't know who they were. To a small, frightened 5 year old, it was almost a form of mental torture.

And he was made to work hard. Cleaning toilets, polishing floors and working in the orphanage grounds were all part of his daily chores. Preparing strings attached to label tags for the butchers took agonizingly long hours. Cut and painfully sore fingers were the results of fiddling with the rough quality of the strings.

The bullying also became part of his every day routine. He had spent many hours locked up in a cockroach infested mop closet. At first he would scream with terror into the pitch black darkness of the room, vigorously shaking off the insects as they scurried over him. But all that earned him was more time in his hellish nightmare, whilst the bullies mocked and laughed at him from outside the closet.

Even worse than the bullying, was his fostering experiences. These so called "house parents" would take the boy into their homes and basically treat him like a worthless slave. He suffered mental abuse and regular beatings – all of which he was told were for his own good.

One memory that burned ominously in his mind was being forced to run the distance between two trees, 50 feet apart, in the heat of the scorching sun. His house parents had sat watching him from their deckchairs in the shade, drinking ice cold water. For nearly an hour he ran backwards and forwards. If he stopped or asked for a drink they would bark at him to keep running, whilst adding on another minute for his griping.

On a different occasion, he remembered witnessing seeing another house parent beating his dog with an old splintered wooden stick. He had very foolishly tried to help the dog and had suffered painful consequences for his actions, as the stick was soon turned on him. His only comfort for his heroic act was the sympathetic, tentative licking of his wounds from the dog, who appeared to understand what he had just gone through.

It would always be the ever watchful Father Magill whom he would turn to when he needed help. The priest would bring him back to the orphanage and make him feel safe again. Alvin was made to walk a very strict line at the orphanage. And he wasn't so sure he believed that this house of God really did keep the children safe. But in his mind, this was the lesser evil out of the two choices.

He soon learned that the best way to survive in this somewhat hostile and dangerous environment, was to shut his mouth, do what he was told and establish who his enemies were. He learned to build up walls when he was threatened and taught himself to turn his loneliness and disappointment into optimistic determination.

This optimistic determination played a big factor in his survival. As the months turned into years, Alvin soon settled down into a routine. As he grew in confidence, it became clear that he was an adaptable little fellow, with a big heart and good-humoured nature. Indeed, he seemed to be endowed with a certain charisma, who could make most people feel at ease with him almost instantly. Words seem to flow effortlessly from his mouth and he had already mastered the art of persuasion. Some might have said that he boarded on being conceited if he hadn't been so adorably innocent!

Combined with his beaming smile and sunny disposition, he rarely went unnoticed in a crowd. He very quickly climbed to the top of his class, both academically and in popularity. Such was his exceptional abilities, he had a knack of becoming bored and got himself into quite a bit of trouble when he became distracted! Especially when he teamed up with his best buddy and partner in crime, Barry Green. Barry was usually the stooge for all Alvin's scams, but they would remain best friends right up to when Barry was adopted at the age of 16.

Life at the orphanage was still hard, but he soon began to learn how to deal with the bullies and sweet-talk even the most hard-hearted nuns into submission. There were still days when he would find himself locked up in some dark closet, but now he had learned that there were no monsters in the shadows that could hurt him.

On the occasions when he was selected for fostering, he would be polite and well-mannered. But too many bad experiences had left him cautious and suspicious of letting anyone get too close to him.

Alvin had now reached his "unofficial" 11th birthday. As had become his custom for the past six years, he had sat patiently on the orphanage steps, never giving up hope that this would be the day when his mom would come back for him.

With each year that passed, his disappointment of her non-appearance diminished. Because now, she was just a fading memory. It was hard for Alvin to remember what life was like before she had left him at the orphanage.

"I am broken," he would whisper to himself. "But I'm not beaten yet."

[ _AN: I may have turned the "angst" volume up in this chapter! Hope it's not to OTT._ _His experiences at the orphanage will sort of become relevant later on in the story._

 _Thanks for the all the reviews and interest in the story. Terri S – that is an interesting scenario._ _I just might write about that one day!_ _Next chapter – "The first scam" coming up soon!_ ]


	4. Chapter 4 - The first scam

**Chapter 4: The first scam**

[ _Timeline: 1966_ ]

At the age of 13 years, Alvin was moved to another LA orphanage for teenagers called Angel Guardians. He was no longer the shy, insecure little boy he was when he first landed on the steps of the Sacred Heart Orphanage. Oozing confidence and personality, he had taken the opportunity to change his name to the much cooler sounding Al Brennan.

He missed Father Magill. But it wasn't soon before he had found another special friendship in the local priest, Father O'Malley. He continued to be Al's mentor, in much of the same way as Father Magill had helped him when he was younger.

The year was now 1966 and Al was a student at High School. He had re-invented himself again as Al Peck. With his handsome good looks and playful nature, it hadn't taken him long to ingratiate himself with everyone. Unfortunately, his personality still made him a target with a few, uncouth individuals.

There was one creep who especially like to give him grief. Max Healey! Although the same height as Al, he was the size of a barge with a temper to match and he liked to lord it over all the smaller kids. And for some strange reason he had a real hatred for the good-looking, popular, Al Peck.

Usually, all Al had to do was flash his vivacious smile around to get what he wanted. If that failed, he had an arsenal of never-ending goodies to bribe and barter with to get his own way. Whenever he was given a rare treat from either the Nuns or his house parents, he would stash them away to one side. He had quite a collection which consisted of sweets, marbles and toys. As he progressed in years, his collection would become more sophisticated, extending to magazines, cigarettes, concert tickets, booze and other items that would be badly sort-after by the children in the orphanage.

Of course, he would charge them a small fee for their purchase! A dollar here and a dollar there - it was surprising how quickly it all added up. It enabled him to spend his wad of bills on the things he loved the most – clothes and shoes! There was no doubt that Al Peck was the best-dressed 16 year-old in Angel Guardians Orphanage.

Unfortunately, it did have its setbacks. Especially when it made Mad Max Healey green with envy every time Al walked by in the latest fashions. Al would normally keep out of his way, knowing that his charm didn't work on the robust and hostile bully.

Al kind of felt sorry for him. From what he could gather from the other children, Max had been beaten on a daily basis by his alcoholic father from a very early age. He eventually had been taken into care by the authorities, who feared that his father would one day kill him.

It was only one story in hundreds that Al had heard about how the children had been treated before they came to the orphanage. Taking all things into consideration, he often thought to himself that he was one of the lucky ones. But pity soon turned into frustration, as Max continued to be a thorn in his side. He had to try and think of a way to get him off his back.

One particular day, Al was out in the garden, raking up some Autumn leaves that had fallen from the trees on to the ground. He was so deep in thought, he didn't see his nemesis stomping up behind him. There was an ugly smirk on his ruddy face and he had his two henchmen in tow. A light breeze caused the pile of neatly gathered leaves and dirt to suddenly take flight, unfortunately in Max's direction.

"Hey! Watch it pea-brain!" snarled Max, making a big show of dusting himself down from the garden debris.

Al sighed deeply as he braced himself for the usual tirade of insults and antagonism. He could probably cope with Mad Max on his own, but didn't really stand much of a chance against three of them. Jacob and Charlie were already circling him, making sure he couldn't get away.

Max came up and kicked the rake out of Al's hand. Al stood his ground, waiting for Max to make the first move. Maybe if he stayed quiet the creep would just give up and let him be.

"Nice threads!" remarked Max, as he glanced Al up and down. Al thought he could hear a glimmer of resentful admiration in Max's voice. Dressed in the latest natural toned denim jeans and jacket ensemble with a fetching turtle-neck sweater, it was a far cry from the donated hand-me-downs that the children normally wore.

"Won't look so good once we've kicked him around like a football!" sneered Charlie.

"And here's me thinking you came to help," rebuffed Al, managing to throw Charlie an amiable smile.

Charlie gave Al a hard shove and he fell backwards on to the ground. Max towered over him and put his foot on Al's stomach.

"I'm gonna enjoy wiping that smile of your face, Peck!" he said, in a menacing manner.

"You really need to work on your threats," taunted Al. "I can't tell if you're threatening me or inviting me out on a date!"

His flippant remark was met with Max's foot stamping down on his chest. Al gasped on impact, but his mind was alert to the fact that he had to try and get Max in his corner. He wasn't so sure he could ever beat him at fisty-cuffs, but maybe there was another way.

"Look Healey," he wheezed, gulping back the pain. "You ain't gonna get much satisfaction in re-arranging my face. A real smart person would ask me how I can help him."

Max thought about Al's proposition. There was no doubt the smooth-talking pretty boy could be of some advantage to him. He seemed to have twisted all the Nuns around his little finger and had a knack of getting himself out of the stickiest situations. He also seemed to have an endless supply of goodies stashed away for every occasion. Not to mention that he was always surrounded by the prettiest girls wherever he went!

He bent down, grabbed Al roughly by the front of his jeans jacket and pulled him up. He eye-balled him for a few seconds and then let him go. Al gave him a sideways glance as he ran his hand nervously though his hair.

"Got anything in mind?" he asked, encouragingly. Now he had Max on the ropes he didn't want him to vacate the ring!

"I've always had a hankering for one of those corduroy coats I've seen you wearin'," responded Max, almost shyly. "Real smart lookin'."

All nodded in approval. The double-breasted bronze-coloured coat with Sherlon pile lining and leather buttons was a classy, much sought-after item.

"Trying to impress some lucky lady, huh?" jested Al.

Al was surprised to see Max's already ruddy complexion turn a deep shade of beetroot! Stifling an amused snigger, he carried on in order to cover up Max's embarrassment.

"Great choice!" enthused Al. "Get your measurements to me and I'll see what I can do."

"Do we still get to kick his head in?" asked Jacob, stepping forward in a menacing manner. But Max put his hand out to stop him.

"You've just thrown yourself a lifeline, Peck!" he growled. "Just make sure you come up with the goods by Friday or you won't get away so lightly next time."

Al nodded in acknowledgement. Max gave him one final glare before walking off. Jacob and Charlie followed behind, but not before kicking the pile of leaves Al had gathered up around the field.

Al let out a long breath as he picked up the rake and started gathering up all the leaves again. His mind went into overdrive, thinking about how he was going to acquire the coat. It was already Wednesday and he didn't have much time to work something out. Being a bit short of ready money, he knew he wouldn't be able to raise the funds for such a pricy item at such short notice. Having taking him a long time to save up and buy the coat in the first place, he was damned if he was going to sell it and give up his treasured possession that easy.

The idea came to him the next day, on his way home from school. It was his custom to take a detour down the high street, gleefully looking in the widows of all the fashion shops, hoping to spot his next purchase. Passing the store where he had bought his coat, he saw a big sign up in the window – END OF SEASON SALE STARTING SATURDAY.

He knew exactly what he had to do, but he had to work fast. He cursed the fact that it would have made the scam a lot easier if Max hadn't insisted on getting the coat before Saturday, but the young Al was always up for a challenge!

The next day after school, Al went back to the store where he had bought his coat. He had with him a couple of expensive shirts that he had also bought there a few months back. His receipt was out of date, but he was confident he could get round that. The shirts added up to about $15 dollars, just short of the price of the coat.

Entering the store, he made his way to the coat section and found what he was looking for in Max's size. On approaching the till, he was pleased to see that the assistant was a middle-aged woman, with a kindly face. Putting on his best woebegone expression, he sighed heavily as she turned towards him.

"Yes, dearie?" she said.

"I was just wondering if I could exchange these shirts for this coat?" said Al, in a woeful voice. "The only think is, I've lost my receipt."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't make the exchange without the receipt," replied the lady. "It's company policy."

Al held his head in a pitiful manner, causing the lady to look at the downcast boy with some sympathy.

"You see," continued Al. "I wanted to get the coat for my best friend. It's his birthday and well … his parents haven't got much money. So I thought I could exchange my shirts so I could get him a nice present. He sure could do with a warm coat to get him through the winter …"

He broke off his sentence as he looked at the sales assistant with big, soulful eyes. She melted under his captivating gaze and it wasn't long before she backed down.

"Well, let's see now," she said, giving the shirts a looking over. "They seem to be in good condition – almost immaculate, in fact. But you're still $5 short."

"Oh!" replied Al, feigning ignorance, his imploring look never leaving his features. "I see. Well, of course, I understand that you can't help me." He smiled forlornly at the lady, as he made a move to take the shirts back, making her heart melt even further.

"Well I don't suppose a few dollars will make much difference," she said, hesitantly, giving the shirts another quick inspection.

Al flashed her his most charming and appreciative smile. Soon the deal was done and he was leaving the shop with the coat tucked safely under his arm. As the lady watched him go, she wondered how she was going to explain to her Manager that she had made the exchange not only without a receipt, but also at a loss! Her only saving grace was that at least they did look like they had hardly been worn and she was sure they would have no problem re-selling them at a reduced price when the sale started.

So Max got his coat. In fact, he was so pleased and surprised with his prize that his attitude towards Al changed. Maybe it was because he knew Al was more useful to him as an ally rather than an enemy. Or maybe it was because he was genuinely touched that someone had taken the time to buy him something nice. Al would never know, but from that day onwards, he never had any more trouble with Max Healey.

The next day, Al returned to the same store (making sure the same sales assistant wasn't in the store) and bought back the two shirts that he traded in for the coat, which were now both at half price in the sale. His first real scam had been borne. And it felt good!

It would be the start of a whole new world for the earnest and quick-thinking 16 year old. There were a few glitches along the way, but he had learned the golden rule well - know whom you could work over and whom you couldn't. Usually his scams were targeted at large corporations. The real thrill came from his ability to manipulate and outwit them.

It was surprising how many gyms and clubs he managed to join without actually becoming a member. Giving the illusion that his mind was on something else, he would approach the front desk running, feigning anxiety over being late for an appointment or a squash game. Or he would have his earphones on – always a good distraction for getting past inquisitive questions.

He had learned that you could get round any awkward situation if you sounded desperate enough. The " _Oh, I was in a rush to visit my sick granny/wife/daughter and must have left my wallet at home …_ " routine nearly always bought him a free meal ticket in any given restaurant or café. Or he would upgrade his hotel room by politely complaining about how the parking meter was broken, or the telly didn't work, or how he had found something inedible in his dinner.

There was an element of danger to the way he lived his life. Taking chances and living off his luck soon become second nature to him. He truly believed that once you were in the zone, you could exploit any situation. You just had to believe in the con and trust your instincts.

Very soon he would become a master of his art.

[ _Thanks for reading. Any comments, observations and critique always greatly appreciated._ _Next chapter "Love takes a hike" coming soon!_ ]


	5. Chapter 5 - Love takes a hike

**Chapter 5:** **Love takes a hike**

[ _Timeline: 1967 - March 1969. Leslie appears courtesy of "The Only Church in Town" [S2, Ep. 3]. Some of the dialogue in this chapter is based on this episode._ ]

The year was now 1967. Al Peck was 17 years old and had changed his name again to Templeton Peck. Like with most of his aliases, it was taken from a character in a book that he had connected with. Having graduated from High School a year early at the top of his class, he had won a football scholarship at one of the prestigious LA football colleges.

Of course his handsome good looks soon made him popular with the ladies. But it soon became apparent that his charm and charisma weren't the only things they were interested in. He began to realise that fame and fortune was what turned their heads. Rich kids with wealthy parents and fast cars were what mattered. Maybe that's why his first sweetheart crush - Rebecca Piper - would never walk round the Angel Guardians' garden pond with him!

He could bluff his way through it all to some extent. He could fit in part-time jobs around his college schedule to earn a living. But he soon found out that his catalogue of ever-growing scams brought the results he needed to a faster and more effective conclusion.

Life at college brought new challenges and people to impress. Templeton had to work extra hard to prove he belonged there. So when he met Leslie Becktall, he thought that all his Christmases had come at once! Pretty, kind and sensitive, she filled his life with a sense of calmness and fulfilment that he had not yet experienced. Within a few months he had fallen head over heels in love with her.

There was no pressure for him to put on airs and graces when he was with her. She didn't mind that he was just a nobody, who had spent most of his life trying to prove to himself that his ambiguous background didn't matter. She was his own, special angel.

They had bumped into each other in the college cafeteria. She was studying to become a social worker. She had a gift when it came to communicating with people. She was quiet and shy, but when she spoke there was a purpose and significance to her words. People listened to her and respected her.

She was also an LA Minister, which meant she would visit children's homes and orphanages in the area and help spread the word of God. Templeton would go with her on occasions. The way she drew the children out of themselves was spellbinding. She could reach into the heart of even the most unemotional and unresponsive child and bring them out of their despair.

Templeton was a better person when he was with her. He had been accepted into the Sigma Chi fraternity on her recommendation and encouragement. And it was the first time that other people seemed to accept him for who he was, without making presumptions about him.

Templeton knew this was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was now 19 years old and his sophomore year was coming to an end. With Leslie in his life, he felt like there was a purpose to his existence. He couldn't imagine his life without her.

And tonight was the night that he was going to ask her to become Mrs Templeton Peck. He stared nervously at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He was dressed up to the nines in his grey pinstripe, Hammonton Park suit, with stylish pale blue shirt. Pulling straight his contrasting grey and blue silk tie, he couldn't help giving himself a nod of approval.

Picking up his fraternity pin from the dresser, he carefully put it in his jacket pocket. He was going to present it to Leslie as a pre-engagement gift. It didn't seem much, but to Templeton it was a symbol that he had been accepted into a group that had brought him friendship and support. He knew that she would understand the significance of the gift.

As he went over to her dorm to pick her up, he felt like he was floating on air and had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It was only when he saw her best friend, Mary, walking towards him with a sombre expression on her face, that he suddenly felt like he had been run over by a bus.

"Leslie is sorry, but she can't see you anymore," explained Mary.

The words hit him like sledgehammer, smashing his dreams into a million pieces. That was it. No other offer of explanation. Just that she had left college and wouldn't be coming back. There wasn't even a note or forwarding address. It was like he hadn't even existed in her life.

As the initial shock of her words started to seep through to his muddled brain, he suddenly spurred himself into action. Grabbing Mary by the arms, he pleaded with her to give him more information.

But Mary remained tight-lipped and said that there was nothing more she could tell him. She shrugged him off, as she started to walk away from him.

"Wait!" said Templeton. "If you see her again, will you give her this?"

He handed Mary the fraternity pin. He didn't want it any more. Without Leslie, it meant nothing. It would just be another reminder of how his hopes and dreams had fallen down around him. He had put all his faith in Leslie and given her every emotion that he had tried so hard not to surrender to. And now she had walked out on him. Just like his mother. And his father before her. She had betrayed his trust, just as his house parents had done in the past.

"I'm sorry, Temp," said Mary, breaking into his thoughts. She gave him a sad, sympathetic smile, as she took the pin. Templeton shook his head in misbelief as he watched her walk away. In that one act of betrayal, he lost all sense of direction in his life.

As the days passed by there were rumours that she had left him for another guy. His hurt and pain soon began to turn to anger and disappointment. But once the anger began to subside, he began to wonder what he had done wrong. After all, it must have been his fault that she had left him. He knew that Leslie frowned upon his somewhat wayward lifestyle. Not that she had ever judged him, but he knew that she didn't agree with his "get rich quick" schemes and dodgy scams.

But he had never tried to con Leslie. He didn't need. She saw through all his swagger and had found a kind, funny, smart and sometimes shy young man, who only wanted to prove to everyone that he had earned their respect. She loved him for his inner-self. Or so Templeton had thought – until now.

So what did the future hold for him now? One thing he did know for sure, was that he was going to quit college. He didn't care about his football scholarship any more. He didn't want to be anywhere that reminded him of Leslie. It hadn't taken long for the snide remarks to make an appearance. It was obvious that without Leslie, he had just turned back into that poor little orphan boy again.

Sure, people came to him when they wanted something, but he could see through their false smiles and shallow concern. These people weren't his true friends. They were just contacts who were using him as a stepping stone to meet their own aspirations.

At that time a lot of young men were volunteering to help fight the war in Vietnam. He knew that Leslie was against the war. They had both watched the bad press reports on the television and she had been horrified by the images of carnage and destruction on both sides of the battle.

Maybe that was the reason why he decided to join up. So that one day, when she found out what he had done, she would know that she drove him to it. Maybe it might even help bring her back. It was worth a try. At the end of the day, he had nothing to lose.

But he didn't want to just be a grunt on the frontline. He wanted to aim higher than that. His aim was to join the Special Forces. The fact that he didn't have the required three years' army experience or met the minimum age of 20 years, didn't deter him in the slightest.

Because he could soon scam his way round that little obstacle. People owed him favours and this was pay day. It didn't take him long to find an associate, who would make the crucial deal with a corrupt draft official. He in turn supplied Templeton with all the necessary information and official stamps he needed to fake his drafting papers. Jeez, he even had his own selective service number!

Soon the newly invented, 22 year-old Templeton Arthur Peck, was leaving LA behind him. But part of him was missing. Betrayal and broken promises had left him feeling empty and insignificant.

Templeton was fighting his own war now.

[ _Really appreciate all the great reviews and continuing interest in the story. Next chapter will include a very special guest appearance!_ ]


	6. Chapter 6 - A little intervention

**Chapter 6: A little intervention**

[ _Timeline: August 1969 – Fort Bragg_ ]

Drill Sergeant Jerry Walton sat in his office, shaking his head in frustration as he looked over the open file on his desk. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Colonel John Smith. Greeting his old friend with a warm handshake, the two men sat down and made themselves comfortable.

The Colonel often visited Fort Bragg when he was sent State-side from Vietnam looking for potential new recruits. He and the Sergeant were good friends and he trusted his opinion and judgment on the eager young candidates who were all hoping to earn their place in the elite Special Forces team. After a few moments of pleasantries, the Colonel soon got down to business.

"Well, Jerry," he said, as he promptly lit up a cigarette. "How are the new recruits shaping up?

"There a good bunch, John," replied Sergeant Walton. "There's definitely a few who are already shaping up to be possible officer material."

"Well, we could sure do with a few more officers making the grade," said Colonel Smith. "What with all the troops starting to be withdrawn, we're getting a bit thin on the ground. Got your eye on anyone special?"

Sergeant Walton hesitated for a moment as his eyes glanced down at the file he had been reading. Colonel Smith immediately picked up on his hesitation.

"Problem?" he enquired, discreetly.

"I lost a good kid today," said Sergeant Walton. "Got himself thrown out over some dumb-ass indiscretion."

Sergeant Walton, let out another exasperated sigh, as he tapped his pen tentatively on the desk.

"Well, actually," he corrected himself. "It was more than just one indiscretion."

"I see," said Colonel Smith. "You obviously thought he had some potential?"

"Look for yourself," suggested Sergeant Walton, handing Templeton Arthur Peck's file to Smith across the desk. The Colonel took the file and raised an impressed eyebrow as he skimmed over the statistics.

He had passed the Aptitude Test with an outstanding score of 120 and had achieved a score of 100 in the Combat Operation Test. His Army Physical Fitness Test also bode well with a score of 234. During Boot Camp he had learnt the basics of military life with gritty determination and endurance. His Advanced Individual Training showed he had exceptional and accurate skills on the rifle range.

He had sailed through Airborne School and again, had successfully executed all five jumps. He had passed the Special Operations Preparation Course with flying colours, mastering land navigation and improving his physical training level.

During the SFAS process, his agility, ingenuity and brainpower had all been assessed to a high standard and he showed remarkable survival skills. His team building abilities had earned him high praise from his instructors and he had been recommended to take the platoon leader's course, which he had successfully passed.

Colonel Smith finally looked up from the file, a puzzled expression on his face.

"So, what went wrong?" he asked.

"I wish I knew," sighed Sergeant Walton. "During training he's your model student. Intelligent, fast-thinking, great team leading skills. But out of training he just loses all his focus and, well, just seems to get himself into a shit load of trouble!"

"Where is he now?" enquired Colonel Smith.

"Locked up in the county jail," replied Sergeant Walton. "He was found illegally occupying a hotel room with a bottle of bubbly in one hand and a leggy blonde in the other!"

Colonel Smith tutted in disapproval, but couldn't help smiling in amusement.

"He'd make a first class officer," continued Sergeant Walton. I'm sure of it. He's just a bit out of control. But this latest incident has scuppered his chances for sure."

Colonel Smith puffed on his cigarette for a few moments, as he mulled over the information.

"I think I'd like to meet this kid," he finally said, getting up from his chair with some purpose.

"You think you can help him?" asked Sergeant Walton, in a hopeful voice.

"I don't know yet," said Colonel Smith. "I'll have to meet him before I can establish whether or not he's worth taking a risk for."

"No problem," said Sergeant Walton. "I'll get someone to take you over to the jailhouse now."

He picked up the phone to make a brief call. Within minutes, a private arrived to take Colonel Smith to his destination.

"I really appreciate this, John," said Sergeant Walton, standing up to shake Colonel Smith's hand. "I'm sure you won't regret it."

"Well, I'm not promising anything, Jerry," replied Colonel Smith. "I'll get back to you a-sap with my decision."


	7. Chapter 7 - Destiny comes calling

**Chapter 7: Destiny comes calling**

" _Stupid jerk_!", repeated Peck to himself, as he lay on his back on the prison bed. What the hell was wrong with him? After earning himself a weekend pass for obtaining top marks on the shooting range, he'd now just thrown away his last chance of making something of himself. And all for the sake of pulling off some lousy con!

It was a con he had pulled off before. Ask the busy desk clerk for the key to a room, so " _he could just take a look around_ " before deciding whether or not he wanted to stay there. He didn't really intend to pay for it! Maybe he just wanted to take a quick shower and crash down for a couple of hours. Or – as in this case - enjoy a romantic liaison with a girl, which he would smuggle in discreetly when no-one was looking!

Usually, the clerk would be too busy to come back and check on him. And if they did, he would just say that he intended to keep the room and had just forgotten to register. But on this occasion the clerk must have been suspicious. Suddenly arriving in the room unannounced, he had caught Peck red-handed in a compromising clinch with the blonde!

He wasn't too happy – especially when Peck didn't have the money to pay for the very expensive, exclusive suite. His, " _Oh, I think I left my wallet in the car, I'll just go get_ it" routine didn't cut any ice with the desk clerk. Security had been called and after a brief scuffle, he had ended up in the slammer.

Peck huffed and puffed as he reprimanded himself. He had completed almost five months of training and had endured everything that had been thrown at him. He had pushed himself both mentally and physically to get through the notoriously difficult Boot Camp. He could take apart an M-16 machine gun in seconds and reconstruct it in record time. He had eaten bugs and snakes and learned how to live off the land. He had overcome psychological barriers and had learned how to lead others to victory.

It had been a gruelling and arduous five months. He had seen nearly half his class quit, broken and defeated as they cried for their mamas. But the monotonous drudge of army life suited Peck. After all, he had spent most of his life in an institutionalised world where everything had to be of a very high standard. He had coped better than most with the tedious ceremony inspections and constant bombardment of daily insults from the cold-hearted drill sergeants.

His bed was always made to military precision, with not a wrinkle in sight. His wall locker containing his clothes were hung in the appropriate order and his comb, toothbrush and razor, were laid out in the regulatory straight line. His boots shone so that the drill sergeant could see his reflection in them. His M-16, bayonet and other fighting equipment were all in pristine condition.

As he sighed to himself again, a jangling of keys suddenly caught his attention. He looked up to see the sheriff peering cautiously into the cell. A fair-haired man dressed in a colonel's uniform was standing beside him.

"Visitor!" growled the sheriff, as he opened the cell door to let the Colonel in. "Colonel John Smith to see you."

" _Just dandy_!" thought Peck to himself, assuming the Colonel was probably from Fort Bragg. He had wondered how long it would take before someone came to kick his ass! He considered lying insolently where he was, but something about the stranger's presence made him jump up briskly off the bed. He guessed five months of military drilling had automatically been ingrained into him enough to know when to salute a superior officer! He remained standing to attention, waiting for the lecture to begin.

But the Colonel remained mysteriously silent. Taking a cigarette out of the packet, he lit it up with a deliberate slowness. Peck screwed his nose up as the cheap-smelling smoke wafted round the cell.

"At ease," said Colonel Smith finally, never once taking his razor-sharp blue eyes off a very defensive-looking Templeton Peck.

Peck relaxed his posture, but still remained standing. He eyed up the Colonel curiously, wondering why the wasn't balling him out.

"So what's your story, kid?" asked the Colonel.

The unexpected question knocked Peck sideways for a moment.

"Not sure what you mean, Sir," he answered, warily.

"I've seen your records, soldier," replied Colonel Smith. "One of the best damn recruits in your class. So what's with the self-destruction button? Your private education got you thinkin' you're a cut above the rest of us?"

"No, _Sir_!" shot back Peck, obviously offended by the insinuation. He glared angrily at the Colonel, not quite sure where the conversation was going.

"So tell me, why are you here?" probed Colonel Smith further. "Just following in daddy's footsteps? Or are you trying to prove you're some kind of hero to impress a pretty little skirt back home?"

"I guess I like a challenge - _Sir_ ," said Peck.

Colonel Smith was surprised by his tone. He seemed angry, almost indifferent to his predicament. Sergeant Walton was right. The kid seemed to be wound up tighter than a snare drum. Peering across the dimly lit cell, it was difficult for the Colonel to get a clear picture of him. Dressed in civilian clothes, he appeared to look kind of tired and beat up.

"Well, you aren't going to achieve much locked up in this cell," he replied frostily, his steadfast gaze boring into Peck.

"Don't make much difference now," muttered Peck, almost under his breath.

For a moment, Colonel Smith thought he detected an almost desperate submission in the young man's answer. He was a loose cannon alright, but his military file spoke volumes. The Colonel was willing to let things play out whilst he made his assessment of him.

"Maybe not," he deliberated. "I'm looking for a Supplies Officer to join my Special Forces team. You come highly recommended by Sergeant Walton. Do you think you can handle it?"

Again, Peck was taken back by the direct and upfront manner of the Colonel. He couldn't quite believe what he had just said.

"Special Forces team?" he repeated in a quizzical voice. "But if you've spoken with Sergeant Walton, you must know I've been kicked out. Why would you offer me a place on your team?

"Look kid!" retorted Colonel Smith, rather impatiently. He wasn't used to his subordinates questioning his motives. "I'm willing to overlook your past discrepancies if you're willing to shape up and forget about your hang-ups. All you need to know is that you can walk out of here and be on a plane to Vietnam with First Lieutenant bars on your sleeve. Or you can stay festering away in this cell wondering where it all went wrong. So what's it gonna be?"

"I don't know," hesitated Peck, his forehead wrinkling into a thoughtful frown.

"What's the matter, soldier?" mocked Colonel Smith. "You gotta ask your mama for permission?"

"No _Sir_!" barked back Peck. "I just wanted to earn my place on the team. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this on my own so I could be proud to wear my green beret. I don't want no favours from anyone!"

Colonel Smith continued to blow out long wispy strands of smoke whilst he listened to the young man's ranting. Although he didn't say anything, he was impressed that Peck hadn't just grabbed at the chance to get a free ride into the Special Forces. Despite the cocky arrogance of Peck's manner, his gut feeling was telling him that there was something special about this kid.

He seemed to come from a well-to-do background. Peck had done a good job in giving himself a glowing resume! Father was an ex-general from WW2, mother was a teacher. Privately educated to a high standard. Lived in a prestigious neighbourhood. Probably had gone through his whole life having everything handed to him on a silver plate. Not knowing the real story of Peck's background, it was a bit of a mystery to the Colonel why he had wanted to join the army. But there was no denying that on paper, the kid had all the credentials Smith needed to compliment his team.

"You'll get a chance to prove yourself, Peck," he finally said. "It's no picnic out there in the jungle. You put a foot wrong and you won't even get out of the bunker. My team work as a unit. It isn't just about one man. I think you understand that and you're the sort of soldier I would want covering my back. From what I can see, you've got more combat experience in your little finger, than most of the greenhorns they send us. Most of these kids have only had 2 weeks' practice with an M-16 and are still trying to figure out what they need a bayonet for!"

Colonel Smith paused, giving Peck a chance to digest his words. He was listening intently to the older man and Colonel Smith was pleased to see an expression of pride light up in the younger man's eyes.

"I guess you know what the combat training school motto is?" enquired Colonel Smith.

"A quitter never wins and a winner never quits!" recited Peck, with some conviction in his voice.

"I never took you for a quitter, soldier," taunted Colonel Smith.

"You got that right!" said Peck boldly, suddenly finding a fire in his belly again. "You get me out of here and I'll be on that plane."

"You think you can stay out of trouble before then?" jested the Colonel, his eyes twinkling with a challenging look of manic insanity!

Peck's impish grin matched the Colonel's gleeful expression. He couldn't help thinking that this Smith was nothing like he expected a Colonel to be like. He had this vision that most Colonels would be old and fat, making pompous decisions from inside their ivory towers. But this Colonel was different. Although his fair hair was intermingled with the first signs of greying strands, he seemed relatively young to be holding such a high commission. And for some reason, Peck felt like he was trying to offer him a way out of this mess he had got himself into.

Colonel Smith nodded to Peck as he yelled for the sheriff. Peck saluted him again and then the Colonel was gone, leaving Peck to his thoughts. He sat back down on the bed, sill overwhelmed by what just happened. He wasn't quite sure why the Colonel was prepared to put his neck on the line for him. He still wasn't used to anyone doing him a favour unless they wanted something back in return.

But there was something dangerously intriguing about the Colonel. His whole presence had charged the small cell with a positive energy that Peck couldn't help responding to. His suspicions still made him very wary, but his sixth sense was telling him that he could trust Smith.

Besides, what was he going to go back to? And even more importantly – to who? Leslie was gone. Even his so-called best friend hadn't stayed in touch with him since he had been adopted. And his mom sure as hell wasn't fretting over whether or not he was going come home in a body bag. And even if he had told anyone back in LA where he was going, there wasn't one person who be praying for his safe return.

Except maybe Father Magill and Father O'Malley. Peck took a moment to think about his two faithful mentors. They had given him guidance and encouragement. He wasn't so sure he would have made it this far without them. They didn't know he had joined the army. He couldn't risk implementing them in his plans. Maybe one day he would write and tell them where he was. But for now, they were better of not knowing.

Because Peck was bad news. Everything good he touched went bad or was taken away from him. He may have cheated his way into the army, but deep down he really wanted to make this work. He needed discipline and structure to keep him on the straight and narrow.

And he had a feeling that Colonel John Smith was just the man to help him do that.

[ _I really do appreciate all the interest in this story. If you would like to review, please don't be shy – just ping me a reply!_ _I'm hoping to wrap this up in another two chapters.]_


	8. Chapter 8 - Front toward enemy

**Chapter 8: Front toward enemy**

Whatever strings Colonel John Smith managed to pull, it seemed to work. And in a couple of days First Lieutenant Peck was on a plane bound for Vietnam. Crammed on board with around 300 other soldiers he didn't know, he listened with interest to the light-hearted banter amongst the men.

Some were joking that the war would probably be over before they even got a chance to fire their weapons. Others weren't even sure where Vietnam was. Almost everyone admitted they didn't really know why they had joined up.

As they neared their destination, an eerie silence descended as the men took some time for quiet reflection. As Peck looked from one face to another, he could see from their expressions that everyone was thinking exactly the same thing. Would they all make it back to the World again?

As the plane began to descend, Peck managed to get a good look at the luscious green landscape and majestic mountain ranges that defined Vietnam. As they swept over Cam Rahn Bay airstrip, he got his first glimpse of the sparkling blue ocean and beautiful silver sands. Set against a backdrop of palm trees, it was difficult to believe that he were entering a combat zone.

As Peck disembarked from the plane, he immediately noticed the muggy, oppressive heat and within seconds he was drenched in sweat. The air was thick with the smell of diesel fuel and the sound of jets taking off and landing, continuously roared overhead. A bunch of men were waiting to catch the plane he had just got off, their tour in the Country over.

You could tell the difference between the hardened veterans and the new guys. Their skin was tanned and weather-worn from the scorching hot summer and the freezing cold winter. Their uniforms were worn and shabby and they all had that knowing look in their eyes.

As he made away across the airstrip, a sudden explosion made Peck instinctively duck down for cover. A soldier in jungle fatigues started to yell, " _Quick! Get inside!_ _Double time!_ ", as they were all rushed inside the main building to a holding area. Despite the confusion outside, no-one inside the building appeared to be panicking. Apparently the airport had been under attack by enemy rockets. It was a daily occurrence and the new troops were informed that they would soon get used to it.

The attack was soon over and an army guy with a million stripes on his sleeve, was yelling out orders. Peck was ushered towards a waiting bus. Even here there were constant reminders that he was in a war-zone, as he noticed that screens were placed over the windows - just in case someone tried to throw in a hand grenade - or something similar.

Peck was to spend his first week in a base camp, acclimatising himself to the unhospitable Vietnamese territory and weather. There would also be further specialised tactical training to learn how to fight against the formidable Viet Cong. This included crawling through enemy tunnels, getting used to Guard Watch duty and becoming familiar with the M18 Claymore mines. These mines were nasty little buggers and could inflict a lot of damage over a pretty wide area of land. They were relatively easy to set up and Peck always found it amusing that they actually did say " _Front Toward Enemy_ " on them!

After his week at base camp, Peck was assigned to the 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne). Arriving at Nha Trang Headquarters he reported directly to Colonel John Smith. The Colonel took one look at the young, handsome lieutenant, and wondered for the first time if he had made a mistake in his initial judgement of him.

Standing before him in his immaculate, freshly-pressed uniform and blonde hair, that somehow managed to escape the regulatory army cut, he looked like he belonged on the front cover of a fashion magazine. And - the Colonel couldn't help noticing - he certainly didn't look like he was 22!

The doubtful look in the Colonel's eye didn't go unnoticed by Peck. He had seen it many times in the past when people looked at him for the first time. He set his jaw into a determined, unwavering grimace. It was obvious that he was going to have to prove to his steely-eyed leader that it had been worth his while taking a chance on him. Somehow, he had a feeling that the Viet Cong weren't going to be his only enemy!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lieutenant Peck had been at Nha Trang for nearly two months. His CO, Colonel John Smith - who was known to his men as Hannibal - was keeping a very close eye on him whilst he put him through his paces.

He was sitting in a bunker in a field, in the middle of no-where, on night guard duty. The bunkers were really nothing more than a pile of wood and sandbags with a small doorway and Peck couldn't help but feel nervous and vulnerable. There wasn't an awful lot you could do except to stare out through the small peep holes into the blackness of the night.

His watch buddy, Second Lieutenant Ray Brenner, was currently scouting around the area a few yards away. Peck liked Ray. He was very much a hardened veteran whom all the men had great respect for. He had been with Colonel Smith for quite some time, and Peck couldn't help wondering why Ray hadn't made it further up the ranks.

His wondering was brought to an abrupt end as a loud explosion rang out into the night. Peck was about to get a taste of VC hospitality! Flares were going off in the sky, lighting the entire area of the perimeter up to the woods. Peck frantically scanned the horizon searching for the enemy but couldn't see a thing.

His next reaction was to immediately worry about Ray. He listened carefully and caught the faint sound of Ray cursing loudly somewhere within the vicinity of the bunker. Peck crawled out of the bunker and made his way towards his voice. He daren't put his torch on for fear of alerting Charlie to their position. It was so dark, he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face.

Somehow he stumbled across Ray. He had fallen into a pit hole, lost his torch and was badly shaken up. Peck hauled him up and together they made it back to the bunker. Ray was fine, apart from a mild sprained ankle and a few cuts and bruises. They both continued to peer out through the little peep holes. After about four or five further explosions, the mortar attacks stopped.

This would be a typical enemy attack. They would guess the range from somewhere beyond the tree line and fire a few shells in their general direction. Most of them would land out in the rice paddy fields. But as Peck was to learn the following morning, a couple of guys had been killed and several more were left injured. He and Ray had been lucky.

One of the dead soldiers – Will Sutton - was a young man whom Peck had sat next to on the plane to Cam Rahn Bay. They had ended up in the same training camp together and had struck up a friendship. He had specialised in the medical core. He had rushed out to help the wounded and had been one of the first ones hit. Because he was a medic, he hadn't even been carrying a weapon.

A memorial service was held in memory of the dead. Peck began to wonder if he had replaced some other young man who never made it home to his family. He learned that a few months ago a lot of men had been lost trying to take some hill called 937. It had been renamed "Hamburger Hill" because of the amount of men had been killed and wounded.

Suddenly the war seemed very real. He remembered how the words " _stay alert, stay alive_ " had been drummed into him all through his Special Forces training. Now he knew the relevance of their meaning.

And he was in awe of it.

[ _Last chapter – "A question of trust" – coming up soon!_ ]


	9. Chapter 9 - A question of trust

**Chapter 9 – A question of trust**

[ _Timeline: October 1969_ ]

Later on that day he was summoned to Colonel Smith's hooch. By the look on his CO's face, he knew he was in trouble! The Colonel looked up from the file he was reading and leaned back in his chair to address his young subordinate.

"I see you've had an interesting couple of months, Lieutenant," he remarked, with an edge of dangerous sarcasm. "Forging official documents; giving incorrect information; absent without leave; disobeying orders. And that's on top of the little incident of disorderly conduct at Fort Bragg. That's quite a record for somebody who's only been in the Service for five minutes."

"Yeah, I'm a fast worker – _Sir!_ " said Peck politely, but with an air of arrogance.

"Says in your file that you were drafted into the army at 18," observed Colonel Smith, sceptically. "What made you join up?"

"I wanted to see the world," replied Peck, not even flinching for one second to give the Colonel any sign that he was lying.

"I hope you are telling the truth Lieutenant," cautioned Colonel Smith. "You do realise you could end up with a 20 year prison sentence if this is all fabrication?"

"That's my problem," retorted Peck. "What do you care if I get busted? I'm not irreplaceable."

"I could order you to tell me," warned Smith, the scathing tone of Peck's words not going unnoticed.

"Well I'm not real good at following orders – _Sir_!" chirped back Peck, just managing to keep a degree of respect in his voice.

"Then why did you join the army?" questioned Colonel Smith.

"I had my reasons," snarled back Peck, a dark look suddenly shrouding his eyes.

The Colonel couldn't help noticing that Peck's stubborn defence mechanism seemed to slip down for a split second as he spat out the words.

"I thought we had come to some sort of agreement?" continued Colonel Smith. "Maybe I was wrong about you. Now I'm thinking that I should have left you where I found you?"

"Yeah, maybe you should have - _Sir_ ," agreed Peck, his confident swagger returning almost as quickly as it had disappeared. "I don't want to end up being blown sky high like Corporal Sutton. I have this allergic reaction to being shot at!"

"I don't buy that, Peck," said the Colonel, raising his voice not so much in anger, but in exasperation. He had a feeling that Peck's misplaced cowardice was a reaction to him losing his buddy. "The bullets didn't stop you from coming to Lieutenant Brenner's aid last night, did they?"

Peck casually shrugged his shoulders, staring defiantly at Colonel Smith. The Colonel's cool blue eyes mirrored the Lieutenant's defiance. He didn't want to give up on Peck. He could see the potential he had in him. But the young rebel just seemed to be making it very difficult for himself. Bordering on the edge of insubordination, he just seemed to have a knack of not quite stepping over the line.

He looked back down at Peck's file. He had read it a thousand times and knew every detail about him from memory. But he just needed something to focus his irritation on. He had to try and find a way to get the hot-headed Lieutenant on his side. Finally he looked up and found Peck looking at him with a slightly bemused look on his face - almost as if he was challenging him.

"Why did you forge my signature on these supply papers?" he asked, sharply.

"Well in my capacity as Supplies Officer, I wasn't sure that you'd be susceptible to some of the stuff on the list," said Peck.

The Colonel looked puzzled as he glanced over the list again. It had just been brought to his attention and he had only briefly glanced at it. There was the usual stuff one would expect to find on a military supply list. But as he looked closer he noticed other items. Whiskey; beer; cigarettes; ice-cream maker …

"Ice-cream maker!" he blurted out, looking at Peck in total misbelief.

"Only the best for our boys, Colonel," replied Peck, a look of saintly innocence suddenly lighting up his face.

The Colonel pulled out another form and again, a look of astonishment flickered in his eyes.

"And what exactly were you planning on doing with all these building materials?" he asked. "And this requisition is for extra medical supplies, sleeping bags and blankets. And there is enough fruit and vegetables on this order to feed another platoon."

Peck fidgeted uncomfortably where he stood. For the first time in their conversation, he glanced down at his feet, unable to look his CO in the eye.

"I want answers, Peck!" demanded Colonel Smith. "You better start talking, or this time they're gonna lock you up and throw away the key!"

Peck looked up and bit his lip nervously. He remembered their conversation back in the slammer and how he felt like he could trust the Colonel. There was no doubt his CO had taken a risk to get him into his team. Peck felt like he owed it to the Colonel to be straight with him.

"There's a children's refugee camp a couple of miles from Nha Trang Village," he divulged, his voice suddenly subdued and restrained. "I've been supplying the Aid Workers with food and materials to help run it.

"Well you certainly don't let the grass grow under your feet!" remarked Colonel Smith. "Two months in Country and you've turned into a modern day Robin Hood! Why should these orphans mean so much to you?"

"Well everybody needs a hobby," joked Peck nonchalantly, but there was no hostility or self-importance in his reply. "Besides, I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought - what the heck!"

"If you wanted to help these kids, why didn't you tell me about this?" said Colonel Smith.

"I didn't think you'd approve," replied Peck. He cleared his throat nervously as he looked at his CO. "It doesn't exactly meet military protocol procedure."

"Is this where you've been slipping off to?" enquired Colonel Smith, as the penny suddenly dropped as to why Peck always seemed to be off base without permission on several occasions with no apparent explanation.

"Well I'm sort of used to working on my own, _Sir_ " answered Peck resolutely. I'm sure you understand I have to act whenever opportunity strikes. I try not to let it interfere with my official duties."

"Hmm, except that you've been forging my signature on these forms to illegally obtain army materials for Non-Indigenous Personnel," stated Colonel Smith. "And got caught in the process."

"Yeah, but it took the army over a month to catch me!" responded Peck, proudly.

The Colonel shook his head, disapprovingly, but inside he couldn't help chuckling over the self-confident, brash Lieutenant. But he knew he had to bring the young whippersnapper into line by asserting some authority over him.

"Look, kid," said the Colonel, trying to be as serious as he could without appearing too heavy-handed. "You're my Supplies Officer and I trust you to do what you have to do. But, that trust works both ways. I just want you to know that I'm not your enemy. If there's something you feel strongly about, I don't want you going off doing a solo act. I want you to bring it to me. And no more forging my signature. I can cover for you this time, but this mustn't happen again. OK?"

The young Lieutenant nodded his head vehemently.

"Does this mean we get to keep the ice-cream maker, Colonel?" he asked, enthusiastically.

This time the Colonel did laugh out loud.

"Well, like you said, Lieutenant," he chuckled. "Only the best for our boys. And Peck, why don't you call me Hannibal like the other guys do? No need to be so formal all the time."

Peck returned the Colonel's suggestion with a somewhat bashful but incandescent smile.

"Is it okay, if I go now, Sir?" he said. "I'm on watch duty in another ten minutes."

"Sure kid," said Colonel Smith. "Dismissed!"

Peck gave the Colonel a swift salute. Just before he left, he suddenly delved into his breast pocket in his jacket and pulled out a packet of Braniff No 3 cigars. He handed them to the Colonel, with a sombre expression on his face.

"Thought this suited an officer of your superior standing," he said to the Colonel, as by way of explanation. "Might give you a much better image than those crappy cigarettes you usually smoke!"

"Where the hell did you get these from in the middle of the jungle!" exclaimed the Colonel.

"Better not ask, _Hannibal_ ," said Peck, a wry grin spreading across his handsome features.

With that he turned on his heels and left the Colonel sitting in a somewhat dazed stupor. He finally took one of the three cigars carefully from the packet and lit it up. Stretching out in his chair, he inhaled deeply, taking a few moments to savour and appreciate the smooth, rich slightly aromatic flavour of the tobacco.

After a few giddy moments of indulgence, his thoughts returned to 1st Lieutenant Templeton Arthur Peck. Ice-cream makers! Refugee camps! And if he _was_ 22 years old and _had_ done three years in the army, then Hannibal would eat his very expensive Swiss cigar!

He had a feeling this kid was going to be a challenge. There was a rebellious look in his eye and an impregnable barrier around him that made it very hard to see beneath the surface. But the Colonel had also seen glimpses of raw emotion inside the young man. It was obvious that there was something underlying his erratic behaviour and mood swings. But – as the Colonel had learned from years of experience - everyone usually had some life story to tell. He hoped that one day his Lieutenant would trust him enough to tell him his story.

His unconventional methods also had a touch of good intentions about them. In fact, Peck reminded him of a young Colonel Smith. He hadn't always followed the rule book through his army career and had regularly rubbed his superiors up the wrong way!

And there was no denying that Peck was a first class soldier. Often leading the way out in the field, he was brave, resourceful and an expert sniper. He wasn't shy about giving the Colonel his opinion about up-coming assignments and manoeuvres and was already proving to be a very capable second-in-command.

He was glad he had taken a chance on him. But it begged the question - was Peck ready to take a chance on himself? Time would tell, but Colonel Smith had no doubt that one day this extraordinary young man would be worth his weight in gold.

All the Colonel had to do, in the meantime, was keep him out of trouble! He chuckled to himself with some satisfaction as he puffed on his cigar.

"I just love it," he thought to himself. "When a plan comes together."

 ** _Fini_**

[ _Thanks for reading and for all the great reviews and comments._ ]


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